


what makes a good man

by liseraptorknight



Category: Guild Wars (Video Game), Guild Wars 2 (Video Game), Guild Wars Series (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, Gun Violence, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 13:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17387042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liseraptorknight/pseuds/liseraptorknight
Summary: A young woman pulls the trigger first and lives. A slight character study of Demmi Beetlestone as a Whispers Agent.





	what makes a good man

Demmi watched her father turn. She saw the calm on his face and the murder in his eyes- the glint of a hidden pistol. Her finger pressed down on the trigger.

“But I can-” he said.

_ Click. _

The shot split the air like thunder.

For a moment, Cadecus froze. His mouth moved, but Demmi’s ears rang and took the words away. He jerked like a puppet on a string, gun dropping from his hand to the carpet. Red flowing across the white of his robes.

Demmi pressed the trigger again. Someone on the upper story screamed.

The man toppled backwards. Brain matter and bone sprayed across the mantlepiece. Metal ricocheted off marble and a globe shattered into mahogany splinters and faded paint. The smell of blood and gore cut through the air, sweeter than old dust and the tang of gunsmoke. The body slammed against the side of the fireplace and slid to the ground, a trail of dark red in his wake.

Demmi took a deep breath and lowered her arm. Her fingers clicked the safety into place and holstered the gun. It was warm against her hip.

* * *

Humidity hung over the Whisper’s gun range like a wet towel in a sauna. Even with the setting sun and the loss of its intensity, walking felt more like wading. A breeze ruffling along the beach offered no relief and the sea was a tepid bathtub.

Demmi rested the rifle stock against her cheek and peered down the sights, with both eyes open. She rested her finger along the barrel.

“Back straight,” Tybalt hollered from his spot under a tree to which he dragged a fan from the living quarters and water bottles in a bucket of ice. “Other hand in the middle of the rifle so it don’t go flying up when you pull the trigger.”

_ Bang _ .

The bullet embedded itself in the dummy’s shoulder with a puff of sawdust. 

“Don’t anticipate the shot,” said Tybalt. “Jus’ let it happen. You’ll jus’ startle yourself again.”

The next shot tore a hole through the center of the dummy. 

“Excellent,” he said, slapping his good hand against this thigh. “Now let’s call it quits and grab dinner ‘afore the sun goes down. Night shootin’s a whole ‘nother animal and I ain’t gonna teach you that one.”

“Isn’t it the same for Charr?” Demmi asked, setting the rifle onto one of the racks. “You have night vision.”

Tybalt shrugged and twisted the bottle open. “Yes… and no. Night vision ain’t the greatest in us either. Loss of, well, detail and some depth. Kinda like humans, but milder. I could teach ya, but- well it’d be a better experience with a human sharpshooter. Lucky for you, I know a lady.”

Demmi sighed and unwrapped the handkerchief around her forehead. The white fabric soaked through with sweat and with dirt. “Kind of just want a shower. I’ve been running around all day and this- ugh. It’s so still. Like holding its breath.”

“We’re gonna get slammed by a big one this season for sure,” said Tybalt, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Ain’t seen nothin’ on the radar, but it’s gonna come.”

“That’s a cheerful thought,” she replied, running a hand through her hair. Her fingers caught in a couple knots and she winced.

* * *

The Manor’s gardens were full of weeds now encroaching on the once meticulous gravel pathways and forcing their green shoots up between the cobblestones. All but three of the roses were long dead. The hedges were a tangled, misshapen mess and the grand fountain in the form of Cadecus’s face dry except for a few inches of water more algae and plant matter than liquid. The ivy ripped down its trellis, strangled the lilacs, and colonized half the porch before declaring war on the rhododendrons. The perennials marched onto the annuals and completely annihilated them. Both greenhouses were filled with brittle twigs, orchids never again to win awards for their delicate beauty.  

Demmi sat down on the steps into the garden and unloaded her sidearm. She put the bullets back into the pouch on her belt and spun the chamber once, just to make sure it still worked. Then, it went back into the holster with the safety on in one motion.

The seraph were tearing the place apart room by room. It sounded like movers, with more yelling and breaking glass. They carried boxes down the garden path to the back gate where a cart stood ready to transport the evidence back to Divinity’s Reach. Most of them were probably papers: financial records, journals, letters- anything hinting at possible Mantle involvement or pertaining to the White Mantle. None of them said anything to her as they passed, besides automatic condolences for her loss that petered out with a glare.

She stretched out her legs and leaned back on her elbows watching the sun climb higher into the sky. For the first time, she noticed the eyes of Janthir motif hidden in the crenelations above the windows. Her old window was on the corner of the house with the view over the town. The curtains were still drawn and maybe if she went back inside and looked around, her things would still be there, right where she left them. The stuffed animals sitting on a line in the window seat. Letters penned to her friends. The old jewelry box with the pearl necklace her aunt gave her as a birthday present. The wardrobe with all the purple clothing she loved and long since outgrew.

“So, you were right,” said Logan’s voice.

Demmi tilted her head back to look up at him. “Told you. He had secrets on secrets on secrets and he told them to Valette…” Her voice trailed off and she sat up.“I- what’s going to happen to her?”

“Commander Aghamoran and Canach made her a deal. She’s replacing Canach as Anise’s, well, servant. She loses her titles until such time as her deeds are considered atoned for. This is all in consideration for further cooperation. Miss Wi was oddly privy to the goings on of the White Mantle. What about you?”

Demmi shifted back into her comfortable position. “Oh, I dunno. Back into the field I guess after some leave. Marshal Thackery, haven’t you got anything better to do than ask me how I feel?”

“It can’t have been easy for you. This mission.”

“I’d been steeling up for it the moment I got into the Whispers. Gave myself a little pep talk.” She shrugged and stood up. “If you’re asking if I feel bad that my shot made Cadecus’s head explode, or well part of it. Oddly enough, I don’t.”

Logan’s face changed color and he turned away briefly. He cleared his throat. “Lady Beet- Agent Demmi I-”

She clapped him on the shoulder hard enough for her palm to sting against metal pauldrons. “Save it for the press conference Marshal. I’m not gonna be here long, in fact. I’ll take my leave. Just send me my stuffed animals in the mail, if they’re still there- oh and all my jewelry too.”

Demmi walked down the garden path and out the gate without looking behind her. The manor was just a place now. She lived here once, and then she didn’t.

* * *

“Look, I’m gonna be real with you kid, Agent,” Tybalt ran a hand through his mane and scratched at his chin. “I’ve got a real bad feelin’ about what’s gonna go down on Claw Island. I mean, look, there’s a Vigil Warmaster pair at the end of the pier and a Priory Magister and they’ve seen the same things I’ve seen- scouts.”

Ice ran down Demmi’s spine. Lion’s Arch’s morning bustle felt miles away and hanging on a thread. Bells rang in the harbor as the sun came out and the tide began to shift out. “Scouts? Undead?”

“Not so loud,” said Tybalt, glancing nervously around the benches of people waiting for the ferry to Claw Island. “I jus’ I thought I’d give you some talks before I go. In case- in case we’re right.”

“Does she know about this,” asked Demmi nervously. “Should I-”

“She does,” said Tybalt. “I never thought I’d be facin’ evil again. Uncomplicated evil.”

“Yeah,” said Demmi. She ran her thumbnail against the pad of her forefinger like she did at her typewriter when the words stopped making sense.

“Jus’ well, let an ol’ man ramble on a bit. If I don’t make it back, if I’m right, I just wanna give you the lecture I’ve given all the new agents I’ve helped train.” Tybalt rested his paws on the table. His tail twitched across the floor. “You are gonna to face situations in which, well, you’ll be chosin’ between your beliefs and your orders. You’re gonna feel guilty about it, but don’t, whatever you do don’t hesitate. It’s like the guns I taught you howta use, pull the trigger if you’re gonna. Save the debate for later.”

A bell rang on the docks and the commuters stood up. Demmi watched Tybalt slip automatically into the line, with his new rifle on his shoulder and file up the gangplank onto the ferry. The breeze came in from the sea to fill the sails and sent salt spray into her hair as she waved.

“Send me a postcard from Claw Island,” she yelled.

Tybalt gave her a thumbs up with his good paw and winked.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Demmi's death in the game was pointless, it was there so the player could feel sad and/or incentivized to kill Minister Cadecus. I think it would've been more interesting if she had lived.


End file.
